


The Gods Will Bring You Here

by akingdomofunicorns



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Friendship, Light Angst, Unconditional Love, Underage Kissing, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7796251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akingdomofunicorns/pseuds/akingdomofunicorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three thousand days together. Three thousand days apart.</p>
<p>(Pray the Gods bring you to a point in life where you can look back and smile)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gods Will Bring You Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SecondStarOnTheLeft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/gifts).



> The original has been deleted, and this is what's left of that mess. Some closure. 
> 
> An early birthday present for @SecondStarOnTheLeft

**MMM.**

“Are you happy? With Jon, are you happy?”

His voice is still a soft sound coming from his lips, nothing like Jon’s, and certainly nothing like Joff’s. And she is, she is so very happy with him.

“Then I’m glad, sweetling, because you always deserved the best.”

She doesn’t have time to ask _him_ whether he’s happy. It is her wedding day, after all.

* * *

Rewind.

It starts like this.

* * *

**I.**

Marg leaves for Court life, Father and Nana going with her; and Loras moves in with Renly, leaving him alone in Highgarden with Ma. It is a strange thing to have the palace to himself, to manage Father’s business as if it were his own, like it will be someday.

Nothing changes but for the loneliness, the terrible, terrible thought that they have all left him behind, even little baby Margaery, who used to climb on his lap to listen to stories of the stars.

He hasn’t been out much, what with the prosthesis being so very obvious to him, but now that only Ma wanders the halls, he is forced to walk all the way to Garlan’s cottage for tea and pastries and young company.

 

**CVII.**

The Easter hols bring a princess to Highgarden, a pretty little wisp of a girl, only thirteen. She talks about her crush all the time, Stark this and Stark that, and follows Willas and Marg around like a bossy dictator, demanding to see this and to see that, always so sweet that he _wants_ to obey her. There’s always a girl like her in every class, he finds them easy enough to recognize, there’s been one under his roof for years now.

 

**CXI.**

“Can you draw me a map of the stars, too? One like Margy’s?”

He’s startled to find the princess hanging upside down an armchair, all her golden curls cascading to the floor.

“And one for Sansa, too, please. She’d really like that.”

Myrcella talks about Sansa a great deal, almost as much as she talks about Robb, or about Marg, as if he hasn’t known his own sister for seventeen years. But the Stark girl seems a far better friend for Marg than the princess does, if only because she sounds far saner.

 

**CXXVI.**

There’s a letter waiting for him with the royal seal, a golden stag, proud antlers crowned. _‘Can you write to Sansa and give her good advice? You are the only wise man I truly trust,’_ it reads. That’s it.

He doesn’t want to, but Myrcella’s a lovely child despite her weirdness, and he almost liked her by the end of her visit. He still remembers what it felt like to want to please the most popular kid in school, how gaining Oberyn’s friendship was the most important thing. He feels like such a child, wanting to please Myrcella like he once did Oberyn. But he does write to Sansa, red with embarrassment, and he does receive an answer, tucked in a pink envelope, sprinkled with Gucci perfume.

 

**CLXXXII.**

July. Garlan takes Leonette as his bride on a warm night and the party goes on for three days straight. They say it’s a wedding, but Willas calls it _madness_. No one sleeps, of course. By the time Garlan and Leonette must leave for the honey moon, Father has passed out on top of a table and Marg is sleeping under it. Loras is still drunk, Grandmother looks at everyone as if she’s about to murder them all, Ma is crying her eyes out and Willas hates weddings and Garlan for ever proposing to Leonette.

Margaery leaves for the north a week after that to spend a month with Sansa and Myrcella in Winterfell.

 

**CLXXXIII.**

Ma volunteers him for ‘Crippled Basketball’, as they used to call it while in High School. He hates taking off his prosthesis, but Ma reminds him that the Gods favour those who support the less privileged, and that seeing a Tyrell of Highgarden playing sports with other disabled people will encourage everyone to donate to the Charity of the Year. He doesn’t care about that spot in Heaven with his name on it, but all those amputees with no money for a new leg do have a spot in his heart, and so he spends the rest of his summer playing around the State.

 

**CCCLXV.**

There’s a prince in a casket when he meets her, and a King following soon after. The country mourns as Prince Tommen ascends the throne, and a princess introduces him to Sansa Stark before running to her chambers, face red and blotchy from holding in tears.

“She mourns deeply.”

“As must you. You were close with the prince, I hear. I am terribly sorry for your loss.”

There was the promise of a crown hanging over her head, but now there’s only a ghost of what golden antlers should have felt on her brow.

She smiles, soft eyes growing hard, and they sit in silence as they wait for Marg to coax the princess out of her room. It is not uncomfortable. He never expected it to be.

 

**CCCLXIX.**

“Cella and Marg speak highly of you. I wish we had met under different circumstances.”

“I’ll stay here for a year, to represent my Father’s interests as he returns to Highgarden to manage the keep. I hope we can bend the circumstances to our wishes, and become fast friends.”

“Why do you think I’d be a good friend to have?”

She’s smiling a pretty smile, genuine. She’s a little bit like Marg, he sees, beautiful and dangerous and playful, but with Ma’s gentleness. There hasn’t been a creature as gentle as Sansa in centuries, not since Princess Naerys. And the Gods have mercy, but don’t men always end up marrying their mothers?

 

**CDX.**

Myrcella goes to the Sept to pray for her father and her brother everyday and she becomes fast friends with the youngest Stark boy (the one who’s as weird as her). He thinks she has finally outgrown her crush on Robb Stark.

He doesn’t say anything about it because there is a possibility (a little one —tiny, really) that he’s in love with the young and beautiful and perfect Sansa Stark.

 

**CDXXXVIII.**

There is a young lord, a Ned Dayne, who follows Arya Stark around, drooling after her.

Sansa sits her sister down for a talk and asks for details. After seeing Arya’s face, both Margaery and Myrcella fall from their seats, laughing like crazy women (they are crazy women).

Ned Dayne’s nose is broken not two days later. Apparently, he tried to kiss a very feisty lady.

He shares a knowing look with Sansa and has to fight back the blush trying to make its way to his cheeks. He is not twelve.

 

**DXLVII.**

“Don’t you enjoy parties, Willas? I thought all Tyrells did.”

Her hand is soft against his, her lips so very red, and she’s not even eighteen yet. It’s a mistake. But she kisses him before he’s strong enough to refuse her, and so he kisses her back.

 

**DLXXXIV.**

_Dear Family,_

_Renly and I have adopted a baby. Roden says hello. You should say hello to Roden, too. His birthday is in four months and you are all invited to the party, which will be held at Storm’s End, of course._

_Love,_

_Loras Tyrell_

_PS: Surprise!_

 

**DC.**

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Plenty.”

“Plenty what?”

“Plenty of times,” he says, laughing as she smiles. There’s a bee in her hair, and lilac chrysanthemum crowning her head.

“Me, too. It’s terrible, being in love. In makes my stomach ache.”

“I think the right kind of love makes you feel drunk and stupid.”

“No,” she says, “I think it makes you feel protected and important. Like you and I.”

 

**DCXIX.**

“It’s just a promise.”

“A promise to be together for the rest of our lives.”

“No, sweetling, a promise that I’ll be by your side forever, no matter what. Take it.”

 

**DCXL.**

“She’s too young for you, Will, my dear. Too young, just a girl. She’s not even eighteen yet, is she?”

“No, Nana. She will be soon, though.”

“Still, you are older than her, a man grown, practically. Twenty-three is a good age to return to your studies, boy. The cancer won’t come back, but neither will your leg. Go back to college, forget about your girl. It’s not worth the heartbreak it will mean for you both if you continue with this ridiculous fling.”

 

**DCLX.**

“What do you think will happen, when you go back to Highgarden, when you return to college and she returns to Winterfell to become a freshman? Tell me, Will, because I can’t begin to imagine what you think will happen.”

“Stop it, Garlan,” Marg shrieks, but it’s too late, isn’t it?

 

**DCLXXI.**

No, no. He promised. He promised to be, if not to stay, by her side. Supporting her is the only thing he’s good at.

And going back to college? What was he thinking, going back to college? He’s a fucking cripple, forgetting about the stump where his leg used to be, imagining he goes back to his glory days of being a lacrosse star.

Sansa is a lottery ticket, a once in a lifetime opportunity at happiness. The best thing that has ever happened to him.

 

**DCXC.**

_Not too young. Dear Maiden, not too young._

 

**DCCIV.**

There’s a panda at the birthday party. A motherfucking panda.

In all honesty, he should have seen it coming. Loras, a father at nineteen, and sweet, darling Sansa, younger than him even. Gods above, younger than Margaery even. What has he done?

But he does love her, he loves her true. Gods forgive him, but he does.

 

**DCCXXX.**

Sansa’s lips are soft and thin against his and they taste of milk and honey. It is a chaste kiss, innocent in its entirety and it only lasts a moment and a half. It’s hard to tell which one of them tilted their heads enough so that they could brush against each other, but it’s not really that important. Not when he’ll have the memory of her flavour and the feeling of her teeth lightly scratching forever engraved in his head.

“Must you leave tomorrow?”

“Must you stay behind?” he murmurs against her skin.

It’s the only goodbye he can give her.

 

**DCCXXXI.**

“Leave my daughter alone, lord Willas. You are going away, and so is she, and soon one of you will realize that you’re wasting away your youth pinning on someone who is miles away and unreachable. Let her grow, let her become the woman she is destined to be. Please, disappear from her life. I have nothing against you, but please, you’ll stunt her.”

 

**DCCXXXI.**

~~‘ _Please be happy. I can promise to be your friend forever, your faithful companion, but we cannot be together. I have loved you truly, of that I am not ashamed, but you are a child, not yet a woman, and I am a man. I cannot accept your love, and you should not accept mine._~~ _I love you, I miss you.”_

 

**DCCL.**

“Are you still with her, Will? Leonette and I worry, you know? And I know you care for her, but…”

What does he know? What do any of them know? Didn’t Garlan marry at twenty? Wasn’t Loras a father at nineteen? He knows nothing, nothing, about Sansa and him.

 

**DCCLXXI.**

“Leave Tyrell alone, mate; he’s got a young piece of ass up North that he ain’t quitting for anyone. She’s a redhead, dude, and eighteen. A freshman. I love freshmen.”

Stupid.

 

**DCCLXXII.**

“But I don’t understand; we were fine. I know we don’t see each other, but we were fine. I… You love me. Don’t you?”

“I do, sweetling. But you’re a girl, I treat you like a girl, and I should have realized that it’s not fair, it’s not right. I… I… We can’t be together, Sansa. I’m sorry, but we can’t be together, not right now.”

There’s half a sentence formed on her beautiful lips when he hangs up. He’s not strong enough for this, not right now.

 

**DCCLXXIII.**

Twelve missed calls.

 

**DCCLXXX.**

One drunken email at three in the morning. He’s stronger than she is, but it’s the way things should be, anyways.

 

**DCCCXL.**

“I just miss talking to you. I miss my friend.”

He’s not strong enough, it seems.

 

**DCCCLXX.**

“You’re messing with her head, asshole.”

There’s a girl sitting in front of him in his favourite coffee shop, and she sticks out like a sore thumb. Shoulder-length hair, tousled like she just woke up, a nose ring and a wolf tattoo on one of her knuckles, a bull on the other hand. Her white t-shirt is tied to her waist, leaving her stomach bare. _Instragrammable_ , Marg would call her.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re fucking up with my sister’s head, what with all this friendship bullshit. Look, it wouldn’t bother me if you hadn’t told her before breaking up that maybe you could be together in the future. _You are messing with her, and that’s messing with me_.”

“Arya Stark?” He can’t believe she’s here, of all places. He can’t believe that she tracked him down all the way to his favourite spot to have a go at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I ran away from home: my boyfriend’s band is touring the South.”

“You’re sixteen.”

“Does it matter? She cried herself to sleep for a month, and now you’re friends? Just break her heart for good, and let her grow from it.”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

“On the contrary,” she says, taking a cigarette from a red pack and sticking it between her lips. The barista on the counter is looking at her intently, but Arya just raises her left eyebrow and talks around it, balancing it like and expert, “she’s my sister, still somewhat naïve, despite everything, and I owe her big time for hooking me up with the Bull, so I have to make sure she’s happy. So do me a favour, and make up your mind, but stop leading her on.”

She’s out the door before he can say anything back, her cigarette lit, smoke coming out of her mouth in a puff of blue.

 

**DCCCXCIV.**

He’s using Meredyth, he knows, but it’s for the best. And she’s using him too, anyways.

 

**CM.**

“You’re a dirty liar, and I hate you. _You promised, Willas_.”

That, he did. It’s for the best, he has to remind himself.

 

**CMXX.**

The silence is the worst.

It always is.

 

**CMLVI.**

“Bran had an accident, and Arya’s still gone, and I think I’m pregnant, and I can’t tell my mum. Willas, I can’t tell my mum. I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. Please, help me. Please, you’re my best friend.”

But are they, really? Everything is so messed up he’s forgotten what it was like, before, when he was stupid enough to think it might work out.

“Come South, Marg is here,” he tells her anyways, because he can’t ever refuse her.

 

**CMLX.**

“I made a mistake. I’m sorry, I was so angry about you and Meredyth that I was stupid. I’m sorry, Willas, I really am.”

“It’s okay, sweetling, it’s okay. Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she hiccups, “I still do.”

“Then take a deep breath, drink this, and tell me everything that’s going on. Talk to me, sweetling. We used to be so good at talking.”

* * *

 

“I don’t want to take the test.”

“Well, Will and I are right here for you, Stark. You don’t need to be afraid, Jon’s a good guy, isn’t he? He’ll understand. And Willas and I… You’ll always have us.”

His hand’s on the small of her back when she looks at him, blue eyes wet with fear.

“There will always be a place for you in Highgarden if you need it.”

 

**CMLXIV.**

“What happened between you two?”

“We talked.”

“And?”

“I’ve been terribly lonely lately, haven’t I? Ever since the diagnosis.”

“Yes.”

“I guess it’s time I opened up to people, then, isn’t it? I’ve been thinking I’ll phone Oberyn, it’s been a long time since we talked properly.”

“Will, what did you two talk about?”

“Everything,” he tells her, almost smiling, “like we used to before she kissed me for the first time.”

 

**M.**

“She’s lost the baby,” Arya says, in the same armchair she took months ago, “and I’m flying back home. But I just wanted to thank you, for being with her when I wasn’t. I owe you big time, Tyrell.”

 

**MXL.**

“How are you doing, now?”

“Jon and I go to therapy twice a week. I think I’m doing better, but I’m not sure. I just… I just want to thank you, for calling so often. And for being so good to us, for talking to your uncle to let us stay here in Oldtown. A change of scenery has helped us greatly, and Dr. Hightower is really good. I can’t thank you enough and—”

“Sansa, you don’t need to thank me. Just, focus on healing, that’s all. And tell the Smalljon that if he needs anything, he just has to ask. I can’t do much, but I know enough people that I might help you.”

“You’ve… You’ve done more than I could have asked for.”

There’s an endless silence after that, but neither hang up. No, there are still things left unsaid.

“Your promise,” she says afterwards, when the sun has begun to set, “you never broke it. You have stayed by my side, no matter the circumstances. No one who wasn’t family has ever loved me like that.”

“We’ll grow old together, sweetling. Perhaps not in the way we had first imagined, but we’ll grow old together.”

“I’m glad we’re both healing. Dr. Hightower makes me talk about Joff, too.”

“Well, Dr. Flowers makes me talk about the cancer. It’s the worst.”

“But you’re healing, right? You’re not lying to me about it, are you?”

“No, not anymore.”

Always so trusting, Sansa. But this time it’s true, and it almost feels good to say it.

* * *

Stop.

It starts like this.

* * *

 

**MMM.**

“It’s her wedding day, Willas, and you’re best man.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Are you happy? Tell me, are you truly happy when’s she’s with him?”

“I am, princess. I promise.”

“How? You loved her.”

“That’s why, I suppose. I love her in so many different ways that sometimes I forget I ever _loved_ her. But it makes sense, somehow, that we’d end up like this. I think we both desperately needed a friend who would understand damage.”

“So you truly are happy. I’m glad, Willas.”

“I am, princess, I promise.”


End file.
